Flying In Love
by Ivanknovv
Summary: In which Jack looses his job, and is booted from his home, Rai offers him a place to stay, and Kimiko makes the mistake of giving Jack a loaded firearm. slight AU, Eventual Rai/Jack.
1. Oh Woe Is Jack

Flying in Love

Oh my God what am I even doing

/

Life, in retrospect, sucked.

It sucked dripping donkey cock, and it made you watch.

And in the everlong cosmic joke that was Jack Spicer's pitiful life, life sucked elephant balls.

Jack Spicer, former self proclaimed evil-boy-genius stood outside the door of his apartment, clutching a pink slip, and a eviction notice in his right and left hand, grimaced at the small amount of boxes that seemingly mocked him with their presence outside his former apartment. Oh, if only he had the common sense to keep his big mouth closed, circumstances like so would never occur. But damn, she had been asking for it. Hell, she was begging for it. Begging like a puppy at dinner time. See, Jack used to be the assistant director of human resources in the east end branch of the widely known corporation Megatech. It was honestly some bootleg replecia of 'Best-Buy' in a ploy from some other business tycoon to effectively rape the Bronx of its humanity. It was pathetic, but the company paid well.

Anyway, it had been your average Tuesday afternoon in the backroom of the MegaTech building. Jack nonchalantly sipped his extra-cream-extra-sugar cup of coffee while fiddling with his phone due to boredom. Co-workers shuffled in and out lazily, occasionally raiding the refrigerator for some sustenance of the moldy kind.

To his error, he was so immersed in his phone; he neglected to hear the clank of sixty-three dollar knock off Chanel pumps that were two-sizes-too-small echo throughout the narrow halls of MegaTech's hindquarters. When she walked, the earth shook, and the sound that reverberated from the depths of her scraping thighs sounded like a cross between nails on chalkboards, and Godzilla's roar. A blonde wig, styled into a messy beehive had erected itself atop her cranium.

Her name was Passion Sweet, and she was anything but.

She was 376 ¼ pounds of bitch, if that's any consolation.

Passion Sweet had a reputation of doing whatever the hell she wanted, and getting away with it because she was the regional director's daughter, and got off at being the epitome of utter misery in a twenty foot radius. On a daily basis, she would torment the customer survive hotline, via unplugging the phones whilst the workers were trying to assist technology-challenged people about their Dvd players. If she gave you coffee, she most likely spit in it, and if you packed your lunch, she would sift through it, take the most appetizing parts, and leave you the bare minimum.

And that was on a good day.

But today would be the day her fat ass would hit the wall.

She would waltz her rolls into the room, clad in a skirt that couldn't have been cheap, and her blonde wig fashioned into ringlets suitable only of a twelve year old girl. She would eye Spicer from across the room, and then, like a morbidly obese cheetah, she would make her move. Her ass would smack his coffee, and the entire thing would stain his shirt a cream brown. She didn't even say a thing; she only glanced at him with her 'whore' eyes, and used her sausage-link fingers to suppress a giggle. And in those few short seconds, something in jack snapped. Maybe it was repressed childhood rage, or just being plain sick and tired of the blonde behemoth, but nevertheless, something in Jack Spicer snapped like a rotten twig in the forest. He stood up, nose to nose with the woman, and quicker than you could say "Evil Boy Genius," he snatched the wig right from her oversized head, and threw it down the trash chute, never to be seen again. Naturally, she put up a fit, and fired his ass, only after calling him a slew of rather rude names that should never be used in polite company.

Jack just told her that she was a fat bitch, and stormed out.

And so, here he was, sitting on his weathered old couch, wondering what the hell he was going to do to get by.

Then the thought struck him.

Today was Tuesday, and by Megatech's standards; pay day. If he was lucky, he would have his paycheck in the bank, provided that Passion was too preoccupied with making everything utterly miserable to eliminate him from the payroll. And if she'd already done the latter, he could always apply for unemployment. He sank back into his couch, ignoring the clunky springs pushing at his ass. Unemployment usually was delivered a month later, because the city of New York figured you had some means of getting by until the first of the month.

He sighs once more.

It was times like this that he wished he was still back in China with his mother and father, constructing robots in the basement and trying to get his mitts on some Shen Gon Wu. But alas, those days were over. Hannibal Bean had been annihilated by Chase and the monks. The monks were no longer needed, and after Chase Young pledged his allegiance to the Xiaolin order once again, the monks said goodbye, and went on to peruse normal lives. Master Monk Guan would assume master Fung's role after his passing, teaching new monks with little aide. In lieu of these events, Jack's father would file for bankruptcy, and in a final stand, he would try to regain his wealth via underground Chinese gambling rings. He would lose everything when he bet against the girl. His mother, a pampered and stuck up woman, who honestly never loved Jack, would flee into the arms of some millionaire's son. She hasn't been seen since. That would leave Jack with a small amount of money, and plane tickets to the big apple. His parents were cruel manipulative assholes, who were more concerned with money and whores than their own child.

Classic rich people.

After hiding the small boxes that contained a scarce amount of clothes and other miscellaneous items, we find Jack shuffling down Fordham road, red eyes searching for a bodega that harbored an atm. He was in the side of town with the higher crime rate, so ATMs in this part of town were knitted enigmas straight from the yarn bundle of lies. He sighed, and sat down on a park bench, watching the florettes of cultures pass him by. He orders some shaved ice from a Hispanic woman pushing a rickety cart. The small paper cup is flimsy and thin, but that is trumped by its flavors.

As the woman begins to leave, Jack remembers his primary objective. "Uh, Perdone, ¿usted sabe dónde puedo uuh, encontrar un cajero automático?" He speaks, Spanish reeling off his tongue in discombobulated clumps.

The Hispanic woman chuckles lightly at his use of her native language, and gives him a motherly look. "I can speak English, most of us can." She wipes her hands on her blue apron. "There is one at the bank up the street." she gestures to the hill left of him. Jack thanks the woman with a hug, and a generous tip of five dollars ((the shaved ice is a dollar)) and jogged up the hill.

Eager hands pressed filthy buttons, as the albino paced in place. If this didn't work, he had three options; he could file for unemployment, and sleep in a parking garage, he could go to the homeless shelter, or he could rob people for a living. Suicide was another option, but he wasn't that unstable.

Yet.

The screen flicked to a page that read "check account", and anxious as ever, jack practically raped the 'yes' button. He grimaced as the loading screen returned, and began to wonder how much a crowbar cost. Prying open an ATM couldn't be that hard, right? But then there's the fleeing from the police part, and the NYPD were not to be dealt with lightly. He turned back to the machine.

And nearly jumped for joy.

His bank account read two-thousand dollars, which meant that the MegaTech officials hadn't snuck into his account and taken half for benefits. Oh joyous day!

He withdrew half of his money, and went into the next-door bodega for a small snack. When Jack walked in he nearly tripped over a stack of bundled newspapers. He cursed as he picked them up, despite it not being his job, and just as he was about to toss the stack into its proper cradle, something caught his red eye.

-Looking for Roommate, rent four-hundred-and-fifty a month. Three bedroom, one-and-a-half-bath. 263 Creston Avenue, apartment 29D-

Jack squealed. His luck had to be turning around. I mean, the apartment was right around the corner! Lady Luck had poked her head up from her hole of happiness, and sprinkled him with her luck dust.

Jack grinned as he tore the excerpt from the paper without the cashier seeing, and skipped right out the door.

/

263 Creston wasn't the most pleasant of the Bronx's low-rent-high-rise complexes, but the elevator and lobby didn't carry the faint aroma of urine, and the locks worked on the mailboxes, which was more than enough to sway him, after his last apartment. Hell, his last place had higher rent, and looked worse than this. The building soared twenty-nine floors high, which wasn't uncommon for this part of town; the buildings were in small clusters of four to six, with a small courtyard of dying flowers and brown grass in the center. It was one of the Bronx's projects, like Hunts Point, without the abundance of prostitutes. It wasn't meant to be some luxury apartment, just a place to live, and Jack didn't have any problems with that.

When Jack had rode to floor 29, he immediately found the apartment by its bright orange door. It was most likely a shorthand replacement formulated by neglectful superintendents, coated in gaudy orange to make it look better than it actually was. He rapped on the door a few times, the gloss of the cheap paint under his fingers crackle. Someone inside seemed to be startled, at that, as a string of curses and profanities streamed from said persons mouth in Spanish. Jack arched an eyebrow, and placed a hand on his hip. The door swung open, and Jack squealed.

Again.

Raimundo Pedrosa stood in all his Brazilian/Columbian glory, a tight fitting wife beater encasing his fitted frame, and baggy sweatpants entwining tanned hips.

Not much of him had changed, his hair was still in brunette spikes, and a slight stubble had formed at his chin and cheeks. His overall Physique hadn't been altered too much. He had retained his body from training during his teenage years, most likely from bi-weekly trips to the local gym.

Or that's at least what Jack perceived from his demeanor.

"Spicer? Is that you?" Raimundo asked dark eyes full of surprise. He leaned against the doorframe. "Shit man, I haven't seen you since the showdown over..." He places a tentative hand below his chin. "It was over the Gemini splitter. Clay wagered the mantis flip coin, and I have a memory of me wagering the share of lightning. I won, but Hannibal Bean slapped the shit outta me, and made off like a bandit." Jack mumbled a bit too keen on remembering defeats. Rain chuckled at the ginger's expense. "So why are you here exactly?" Raimundo inquired.

Jack furrowed his brow. "Well this is going to be weird, considering our history and all, but..." Jack swallows nervously. "I'm here about the ad in the paper."

That look of surprise had plastered itself back on Raimundo's face, as he came off the doorframe. He placed his hands on his sides and bore all his weight onto his left side. "Dude, you serious? Cuz I'd really appreciate that." The Brazilian male said, still awestruck with surprise.

Jack shook his head yes.

Rai gave him a ceremonial pat on the shoulder. "Then I guess I should give you the tour!"

Jack had to admit that the apartment was nice. Despite the status of the building, the a apartment had a loft-like quality to it. Long carpeted floors that were in their prime, The windows were clean, and the light cream paint looked as if it was done recently. According to Rai, this was a new floor, so it generally looked better than the rest of the building. The bedrooms had nice soft magenta carpet, and the stove and refrigerator were up to date. Raimundo's appliances seemed nice too; saying that he made a good amount of money is what the thirty-five-inch TV in the living room said.

When the tour concluded, Jack looked him in the eye, and asked him a inquiry that had been nagging him the time. "We used to be enemies, so why are you so inviting of me?" He made a face, as Rai fixed the curtains. "All that shit happened in the past bro. Let bygones be bygones ya know? Now, if you want a grudge, you can try Kimiko."

"She still pissed about the monkey staff thing?"

"Yup."

Rai handed him some paperwork, which Jack eagerly filled out, lying on the part that asked if he was currently employed or not. He handed it to Rai who looked it over, and welcomed him to his new home. Jack smiled, and patted his new friend on the back.

"Hey Rai, can you do ne a favor?" Jack asked, while Rai changed into his jeans.

"Hmm?"

"Do you know of anyone who can help me get my shit from my old place?" He looked down at his shoes, a pair of red converse that had writing and childish doodles laden all over the white rubber parts. He looked up to see Raimundo grin once more, and grab his keys. "I have a truck, so I can help move your shit. Though, if you have a lot, we'll need to make two trips."

"Rai I'm poor. all I had was my laptop, some books, a bed, and clothes."

Rai gave him a look.

"It was a really small apartment, okay."

Rai only chuckled.

Raimundo's truck was actually pretty nice, at least that's what Jack thought. It was a silver Nissan Titan. The front was rather large, despite hie small it looked on the outside, and it provided adequate leg room, so Jack couldn't complain.

"So, where are you on the whole 'world domination' thing?" Rai sled as he made a sharp right turn on to Wilbur Avenue. Jack made a face, and began to twiddle his thumbs. "Its, uuh...its on hiatus." By hiatus, he meant he was too damn poor to plan any dominating activities. Rai smirked. "For the record, we all knew you couldn't do it."

Jack made a face, clearly hurt. "Hey, just because I'm taking a break from my plans doesn't mean I can't do it!" He shouted, causing his adjacent to laugh wholeheartedly. In response, the albino just crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

"We're here, the brown one on the left." Jack pointed to the small complex on the left, a drab and shoddy pimple on the face of New York.

"Aww shit."

"What?"

"They took the couch."

The latter, was unfortunately true. The blue futon that Jack slept on was gone with the wind, not a single trace left behind. Jack sulked as he retrieved the boxes of clothes he'd hidden earlier, Raimundo aiding him in his efforts.

"You don't mind if I crash on the couch 'till I can afford a bed, do you?" Jack inquired while he loaded the boxes into the flat of the truck with meager effort.

The Brazilian man just flashed his signature grin, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Dude, you can just sleep in the bed with me."

TBC

/

I shouldn't have done this. It's short, choppy and disgusting. I'll go back and alter it later. I promise the next chapter will be better. But whatever. Keep in mind I only update if people give me decent feedback, opinions ect. Thank you for reading.

—Ivan


	2. The Bitch, The Gun, and the Ugly

Flying in love-2

It would be around seven a.m. when Jack would hear the wretched of Raimundo's alarm clock resound across the room. The Brazilian man would trudge over to the device, only to unplug it, and fall back into the pillow top bed.

Jack chuckled inwardly, peeking an eye at his adjacent who had already delved back into the clutches of dreamland.

"Rai, we should get up." Jack croaked.

"Fuck thaaaattttt." He drawled, brown eyes creaking open groggily. "The bed is too comfy, and I'm too old for this working shit." He rolled onto his back, and began counting the bumps laden in the ceiling. He glanced at Jack, who cracked a grin.

"Breakfast?"

/

Jack placed the damp pot in the drain, as Raimundo waltzed out the door. He needed to go job hunting, mainly because he needed money like a fat kid needed cake, and because he didn't want to be thrown out. And because he was happy that somebody acted like they respected him for the first time in his life. Even if it was fake, he was satisfied with his progress.

Jack sat on the couch, opening up his laptop, and made a quick search for jobs on the web. He came up with a few results. Three of which were table waiting, all of which worked for cheap tips. One was a cashier. Jack furrowed his brow. His people skills leaned towards the less-to-be-desired side, and he tended to lash out in bouts of anger at stupid people. But nevertheless, he stabbed it with consideration. The next one caught his attention. It was labeled 'Bond Enforcement,' and lacked a description, other than saying. 'Come to us and we'll school you.' Bye arched a brow, and tapped the aide of the black contraption. He knew of bond enforcement solely from watching horrid re-runs of that 'Dog: The Bounty Hunter" show when he had the flu. He imagined the ideal bounty hunter with horrendous haircut, ridiculously tight clothes, and a catchphrase.

Jack had half a mind to throw on some leather pants and cut up a perfectly good black tee-shirt. Maybe he could wear his cowboy boots and call himself 'Ace' or something.

The very idea struck despair into his heart.

Jack let it tumble in his mind for about fifteen minutes before he decided to go check the bond enforcement gig out. He figured he could handle walking up on people and hand cuffing them. So, he threw on some weathered jeans, and a long sleeved gray sweater, and after styling his hair, a black bandana held it in place. His feet were stuffed into gray Nike Blazers. He trudged out the door, pulling on a winter coat and a scarf. Don't let the time of year fool you, the April months were as cold as its sister March, and the heat really didn't kick in until around late May, which is when the scorchers started rolling through. Children would be exempt from their classes, and would go frolic throughout the streets, cracking open a fire hydrant, or playing on the roof of the apartment complex.

However, the city could only wish for such weather. Last Sunday, it had snowed for a good day and a half, the streets were piled with a blanket of pearly white snow, and within hours, the snow had been plowed into filthy mounds of asphalt and garbage. Jack sighed at his melancholy, and kicked over a small piling of snow-ice into the road. He continued onto a cross walk, and practically raped the crossing button. Just then, a green sedan came speeding down the parkway and right into the pile of snow. It sent dirty slush right up Jack's leg, bringing out his trash mouth.

Winter Wonderland. Bronx style.

/

When Jack got off the train, his mood had careened downhill. He had been squelched through midday subway goers. Jack had been pressed up against the rear door, with a very big and very intimidating man's crotch pressed up against his ass. His Dick was practically inside him! It could be deemed second hand-balls-to-the-walls sex, with the way they were sandwiched together. He swore he felt him twitch!

Jack shivered.

He was in an older part of the Bronx now, full of decaying buildings, and fallen structures. Small bodegas, pawn shops, and liquor stores lined the block, accompanied by a few titty bars, and the occasional chop shop. Right now, he wished he had some Wu, (he still has a few in possession) but being the idiot boy genius he was, he left them in their small box.

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

"Young's bail bonds." Jack read aloud when he came to his final destination. Young's bail bonds was a slum of a structure, with rusting bars across the dirty windows. The door's paint was chipped and fading and it sure as hell had seen better days. He opened the door and was greeted with a harsh but familiar reality

"Oh hell. " he groaned outwardly. Sitting at the front desk, was none other than Kimiko, who was busy texting away on her phone. She had apparently heard him, and looked up. Her brain took a few seconds to register, but when it did, her eyes filled with rage, her fists clenched with anger, and she looked like she needed to be locked away is a Psyche ward.

"WUDAI MARS, FIRE!" Flames shot from the hands of Kimiko, aiming directly at Jack, who had managed duck low enough to get only the ends of his hair singed. She shot two more balls of fire at him, and Jack screamed his signature scream, and dove for cover on the sidewalk. She as going to burn him to a crisp. And after that, Kimiko would dance on his charred ashes and sprawl them about like a madwoman. He awaited his fiery fate with hopes that he would die from smoke inhalation, rather than incineration. Raimundo Pedrosa practically kicked open the door to the main room, and witnessed his co-worker try to fry his roommate on the sidewalk. Oh what a way to die, burned by the literal flames of a woman, on a filthy New York sidewalk.

Oh what a world.

"No! Kimiko, quit that!" He bellowed slapping her hand away before she could successfully pull out Jack Spicer's heart and sacrifice him to the sidewalk gods. She looked at him with the most meanest of looks, and kicked him in the side. "Why are you here Jack?" She spat venom with her words.

Jack rubbed his hurt arm. "I saw the ad on the Internet, and I devices to check it out! He bellowed. "Ah fuck!" He exclaimed as he touched his scraped and bleeding elbow. It stung like a bitch.

"You told me you had a job."

"I pulled my bosses wig off and put it down the garbage chute. And I called her a pigglybitch." He said, cracking a smile. He looked towards his roommate, who seemed mildly amused. "And you didn't tell me this, why?" Rai asked.

Jack laughed nervously, pulling on his collar. "Well, people don't commonly rent rooms to the unemployed." Rai arched a brow.

"Wait." Kimiko said, interrupting. "You rented your apartment to Spicer?" She turned and looked up at him with a disappointed look. "I thought you were smarter than that!"

"Hey!" The Brazilian said, clearly offended. "Don't you belittle my decisions, he came to me, and I accepted. Forgive and forget, right?"

"Forgive and forget? What if he tries to kill you? Oh God I can see it now! Brazilian man washes up on the shore of the Hudson," Kimiko said, waving her arms around for added effect. "Suspect still at large."

Raimundo rolled his eyes, and put his hands on his hips, bearing his weight down on his left foot. "You worry too much. Jack is too innocent to kill anything."

"Bitch, I'm right here!" Jack said, clearly offended. "I could so totally kill Rai! If I felt like it." He muttered the last part under his breath ans crossed his arms. Raimundo snorted in response. "You don't have the balls!" He shot, jokingly. Jack grabbed his crotch. "I do so have balls!" "You can suck them if you want." A sly smirk slid on the albino's face as the Brazilian man laughed at his own expense. Kimiko simply rolled her eyes and scoffed, then turned to leave, the tails of her wool sweater trailing behind her.

Raimundo went into the back room, and told Jack to sit on the couch and wait for him, which was ironically, directly across from Kimiko's desk. He made an attempt to withhold eye contact, but failed when he realized that the Japanese woman was glaring burning daggers at him. He shuddered inwardly, and began to nervously twiddle his thumbs. Without breaking eye contact, she pulled open the drawer of the wood desk, and set out a glock.9, and her Aerro Sparrow shen gon Wu satchel.

"Don't you think that's a tad extreme?" Jack timidly asked.

"You'd be amazed how hard it is to identify a body after its literally been burned to a crisp." Was all she said, while she picked up the gun and began to examine the barrel and the clip.

"Oh c'mon! I haven't threatened you or anything! You shouldn't be so damn hostile!" Jack gripped the sides of the couch roughly.

Before Kimiko could load the gun, and fill Jack with more holes than that movie with Shia Lebouf, Raimundo came from the back room, a few manila folders and a cup of coffee in hand. He handed the cup to Jack, who accepted it happily.

"Now if you're serious, we need to teach you the basics. Kimiko can you come here?" Raimundo spread out the files on the dingy coffee table next to the cup of coffee. He motioned for the Asian woman to join him. She responded by shooting him a stiff middle finger, along with a glare. The Brazilian man sighed and rolled his eyes, muttering something in Portuguese under his breath. "Do you even know what bond enforcement does?" Rai inquired. Jack shook his head whilst taking another sip of coffee. "They go after people who didn't show up for court." Raimundo arched his brow, clearly surprised. "Look who studied before he got here!"

"Nah, you can learn a lot for watching dog the bounty hunter."

"Isn't that the show with that bondage freak with the Mohawk?"

They both burst out laughing, earning a disgusted scoff from Kimiko, who picked up her phone and went over to the file cabinet. She pushed her dark hair back behind her ears, as she rummaged through wells of junk. From the drawer she revealed a gun. A silver Beretta 96A1 to be exact. "Spicer, catch." She said flatly, sending the firearm his way with a soft lob. Jack examined the gun, Raimundo looking on attentively. Jack thought the gun was clunky and heavy, and he needed two hands to hold it in place correctly. And to add insult to injury, he had terrible aim, and his hands shook if he even began to try and hold something. Oh woe was him.

"Bond enforcement is a job that teaches you while you work." She slid a manila folder towards him, and he opened it. "It's a pretty easy job. I'll even go with you in case you fuck up!" She said. Jack opened the file and grimaced. The FTA (failure to appear, or skip) was a man named Wade Hinsley. Wade Hinsley was a 5'4 extremely skinny balding white guy, who had been charged with public drunkenness, public urination, and public indecency. He lived in a small shit house just on the edge of this district with his sister and her two kids.

Jack looked up at Kimono, who gave him a glare.

"Time for lesson number 1."

/

The dark blue civic careened down the turnpike and came to a stop at the red light. Jack fiddled with the manila folder as they neared the culprits house. Kimiko looked him up and down, and said something under her breath. "What the hell are you shaking for? We aren't even there yet!" The dark haired woman c dully as she gripped the steering wheel and made a sharp left. Jack looked up, nails still fiddling with the edges of the already-ratty folder. "I'm just wondering what'll happen if I get shot." He said. Scoffing, Kimiko rolled her green eyes and parked along the sidewalk, right under the L. "You'll get shot at, but ive rarely been shot. The worst I've gotten is grazed across the forearm." She pursed her keys, and attached her cuffs to her belt. Checking to make sure that her firearm was loaded, she shoved it down the back of her pants, and shrouded the lump with her blouse. Jack did the same. "What you need to worry about," Kimiko began, searching the block for house 433. "Is the guy running. I've been run from, shot at, and I had to jump off a fire escape to catch a guy once." She said busily. They came to 433, a small two story "houseparment" as they were called by the locals. It was small, no doubt. The windows were cloudy with caked on dirt of the years, and the blinds full of dust. The garage was almost underground, for the driveway sloped downwards. A old white Cadillac was parked in the open garage.

Kimiko banged on the shitty wood door, and put their hand behind her back, gripping the tail of her gun. "BOND ENFORCEMENT!" She yelled. "OPEN UP." She positioned her back at the side of the wall, invade somebody decided to shoot the door out. Narrowing her eyes, Kimiko turned to Jack, who was fiddling with his gun. "Go around back! Invade they try to run!"

Jack nodded and jogged over to the partly rusted chain link fence, and hurdled over it with minimal effort. The crampingly small backyard had more toys then grass, and the redhead almost twisted his ankle on a hotwheel that was upturned in the grass. Jack moved to the back door, and peered through the windows. The television was still on, and toys were still on the floor. A fresh can of some off-brand soda had just been poured into a glass, the bubbles were still floating to the top. Next to the can, was the open door that most likely led to the garage.

Shit.

"KIMIKO! HE'S IN THE GARAGE!" Jack bellowed as loud as he could when an engine had turned over in the garage. Jack had hurdled back over the fence just to see the Cadillac screech off into the street. Kimono fired three rounds, one missed and the remaining who hit the bumper. Jack, thinking quickly, aimed for the tires and shot only one round, before dropping the gun due to recoil. The bullet hit the left tire, and the sudden drop in pressure caused the car to swerve into one of the beams that held up the train stations.

Kimiko, patted Jack on his shoulder, and cracked a small grin. "Pretty good."

"I still hate you though."

Jack just sm  
/

"So you shot the hole in Hinsley's tire?" Raimundo pointed his fork at Jack, who nodded and smiled around a mouthful of Lo Mein. Jack swallowed and wiped his greasy hands on his jeans. "Yeah. It was a lucky shot though." Jack replied humbly. Hr scraped his food around on the plate, then brought it to his mouth. He glanced at the television, which was playing a old Knicks verses 49ers game. Rai had been generous enough to get some Chinese food in the way back to the apartment. Jack had offered to pay, but Rai had already gone out of his way to do it himself.

That was just one of many things Jack liked about the Brazilian man. Generous and forgiving. And it gave him all the more reason to stay here with him.  
/

Please excuse the garbage ending.

Omi, Clay, and others will appear soon.

Jacks job is loosely based off of Stephanie Plum's, a fictional character from the Stephanie plum series, written by Janet Evonivich.

The "L" is a term for the trains that are over the ground.

And the actual plot will start next chapter.

~Ivan


End file.
